


When Life Gives You Lemons

by starbunny



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Animals, F/M, Fluff and Crack, Gardens & Gardening, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Non-Serum Steve Rogers/Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes | Shrinkyclinks, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-14
Updated: 2018-11-14
Packaged: 2019-08-23 10:08:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16616951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starbunny/pseuds/starbunny
Summary: Steve's idea of a simple life consisted of two things. First, drawing and taking art commissions whenever he pleased, and second, taking care of his wonderful garden.What it did NOT include was: Having the local wildlife unanimously decide that his garden was the greatest sanctuary ever, attracting the attention of the mysterious species of humans known as 'The Avengers', or starting war with a cunning raccoon that destroyed everything in Steve's garden, then learning that the raccoon was not really a raccoon after all and Steve should have really known better.What has become of his life?





	1. How things started

Steve lived a simple life.  

A simple life which consisted of two basic things:

One, taking on painting commissions whenever he pleased (or whenever his wallet was starting to look sad and pathetic) and two, taking care of the huge garden in the backyard.

It was a beautiful garden, filled with lush fruit trees in one corner, cabbages, carrots, tomatoes and other herbs in another, flower shrubs in yet another corner, a small collection of cacti and succulents near the porch, and a soft carpet of fluffy grass covering the whole area to top it all off.

All green and bright and oh so perfect.

But it hadn’t always been like this. It was barren when Steve was still a child, just a square of cracked land overgrown with weeds and grass.

The first tree was planted when Steve’s father died; a tiny lemon tree seedling nestled in a corner, in memory of his father who loved lemon pies more than any other dessert (It was still there up till this day, producing the same fat juicy lemons as they had years ago).

The next tree was an apple tree, given a home beside the lemon tree when Steve got into his first choice college, scholarship and all.

Then came along the flower shrubs, which not only gave a well-needed burst of colour to the yard, but also welcomed a new family of tiny chirping robins to take up residence in the garden, fluttering and cheeping around happily throughout the day.

And then tragedy struck.

One day Steve’s mother was watering the plants, humming to some song, and another moment she was on the ground, watering can limp in his fingers.

A stroke. Clot in her brain. The death was quick, the doctors reassured, and all Steve could think of was: why? _Why?_

The garden wilted away after that, plump glossy leaves shrivelling into brown, crumbly paper, weeds and vines swallowing up all that lush greenery and turning the once grand oasis into a sad wasteland. Even the birds left, leaving Steve to wake up every morning to a gloomy silence, no chirping, no buzzing, no sign of life at all.

And then Sam Wilson – still his best friend even after he returned from war, haunted look in his eyes – brought over an orange seedling, thrusting it towards Steve.

“Had a buddy at the VA give me this. But tough luck, ‘cause I don’t know a damn thing about gardening.” Sam had said, not subtle at all.

He’d seen the disaster that was Steve in the months after his mother’s passing, broken plates and glasses strewn over the whole kitchen, a thick layer of grime and dust covering every available surface while Steve barricaded himself in the room, hiding under a pile of dirty clothes.

It had taken a lot of persuading, a lot of bribes in the form of Steve’s favourite cookies, but Steve eventually got his act together, cleaning up the room and returning to some semblance of normality.

He cleaned up his mother’s room, packed all her belongings somewhere, and then finally turned his attention to the backyard.

The garden had been his mother’s greatest pride, and Sam’s orange sapling reminded him of that, reminded him of the smile she had when watering the plants, her sheer joy when she first noticed the tiny robins perched on the trees, surveying the land.

Damn it all if Steve was to let all that die away too.

So he got out the weed wacker, a wheelbarrow, a pair of heavy-duty gardening gloves and set to work. He was small and scrawny, because puberty apparently skipped past him, but he hacked away at the weeds nonetheless, patch by patch, day by day.

It took months, but the garden sprung back to life under Steve’s meticulous care. He gave that orange sapling a new home, and it grew well beside Steve’s apple tree – now tall and proud.

Steve planted new flower shrubs, started a collection of cacti and succulents, and in time, the garden was restored back to its original glory, thriving with a new population of visiting bees and butterflies.

Soon enough, the robins returned, and Steve’s mornings were lively again, melodious and cheerful.

Steve installed a bird feeder and set his sights on starting a small vegetable garden next, planting some tomatoes to start with.

It worked well, and his vegetables grew, sprouting thick juicy leaves and red fruit that made Steve’s heart tingle with a rush of pride.

Of course, that was until Steve found _it._

It being one small, bushy-tailed squirrel that dug unsightly holes in his garden and stole his tomatoes.

Sam had laughed when Steve complained to him about it, and when he successfully chased away the damn rodent by squirrel-proofing his whole garden and installing some large, intimidating metal fences all around, he started to regret it.

Now his garden looked like a military fortress, ready to zap any poor creature that came close, when all they really wanted was a tiny morsel of food because they were simply _hungry._

“But Sam! Now the squirrel’s starving because of me!”

“Seriously, Steve? First you were complaining that the squirrel was a – and I quote – a thieving fluffy bastard that you didn’t want anything to do with, and now when it’s gone you feel… _bad_ for it?!”

“Well- I mean. It only came in because it was hungry. It wasn’t hurting anybody.”

“Apart from your tomatoes, you mean.”

“But Sam!! You’re missing the point! What if the squirrel dies because of me?! I just keep thinking of how it must be so hungry and oh god- Sam, I _killed_ the squirrel didn’t I?!”

“…I can’t even tell if you’re being serious or not.”

“I’m a squirrel killer!”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Steve. Look, if you really feel that bad for the damned animal – even though it was being a pest and destroying everything in the garden you worked hard on – then remove the fence. _Un-_ squirrel-proof the garden. Put out some food if you seriously pity the animal so much.”

And then Sam hung up, leaving Steve to pout on the porch, staring out at his garden that definitely looked ready to defend against a zombie attack.

Yeah, this wouldn’t do at all.

He removed the fence and un-squirrel-proofed the garden, setting out a dog bowl of food scraps and water instead, and within a few hours, the squirrel returned – with a bunch of friends no less – who decidedly agreed to leave all of Steve’s precious tomatoes alone as long as the dog bowl was filled with food.

Then Steve moved on to planting cabbages, and that itself came with another set of problems, because Steve woke up one day to water his plants as usual only to find that his cabbage patch had been turned into a massacre scene, plucked out straight from a horror movie. There were leaf pieces and juice everywhere, and his poor defenceless, innocent cabbages have been brutally murdered, chomped on at the very root, with only a few strands of grey-brown fur and little footprints scattered all over as hints to the culprit. 

He immediately picked up his phone and punched in Sam’s number, settling down on the porch.

“…Ello?” Sam sleepily picked up.

“Sam!!”

“Wh- It’s six in the morning Steve. This better be an emergency.”

“My cabbages were murdered!!”

“Err…What was murdered?”

“My _cabbages_ , Sam. Something ate them!”

“Your…cabbages..?”

“It’s all gone!”

“Well that’s what you get for un-fencing the garden you idiot. Of course you’re going to get some unwelcome visitors.”

“But-”

“Seriously Steve. It’s _six_ in the morning. And you know exactly how to fix this problem. It’s very simple. Starts with an ‘F’ and rhymes with ‘dense’ – which is well, exactly what you are!”

Sam hung up, and Steve mumbled a few profanities to the air, before groaning out loud.

He found the culprit a few days later, a big-eared greedy deviant that had absolutely no qualms about abusing innocent cabbages.

A rabbit.

He contemplated getting rid of his cabbages altogether, or growing them somewhere far away from the gluttonous bunny, but one look at the insufferably cute face with twitching ears and pink nose immediately melted Steve’s heart.

He ended up putting out a separate bowl of fresh vegetables and fruit every day for the rabbit, and it left Steve’s cabbages alone.

Fast forward a few more weeks, Steve heard a loud thump on the window, and when he went out to investigate, he found a poor crow on the floor, feathers falling out, with its wing twisted in an unnatural angle.

Steve took it in of course, how could he not? He fed it, talked to it, and it eventually recovered, flapping out of Steve’s house with a loud triumphant caw one bright morning as a final farewell.

Steve didn’t expect to see it again, except that he found the crow calling outside a few days later, leaving a shiny bauble at his doorstep before flying off. The next day, it happened again, this time with a piece of foil on the floor. The following day, a glittering keychain.

The gifts kept coming, and he filled up a little jar with all the trinkets and proudly displayed it on the porch.

The next month, he had a stray cat visitor, one that now wore a collar to prevent animal control from taking it away and regularly took naps on Steve’s couch, meowing and prodding him awake each morning.

And then the next year, Steve was visited by a pair of prickly hedgehogs, quivering little balls that desperately needed a home. Steve built them a tiny wooden house, leaving out logs and leaves for them to burrow and play in.

Sam teased that Steve had become a full-blown Disney princess, and Steve made no attempt to dissuade the notion, making a scrapbook with doodles and descriptions of his garden animals and pinning it to his wall, regularly adding new pages throughout the year as the number of residents in the garden grew.

Countless bugs.

A fox.

Another rabbit.

Many different birds.

Even the occasional visit from a wild deer.

Steve became very good at dealing with the different animals, feeding and caring for them, providing them a safe space to come back to whenever they wished.

And when his scrapbook was full and Steve was convinced that there were no other new creatures that could possibly be attracted to his garden, he was proven wrong. Naturally.

Because he failed to take into account the mysterious species of humans called ‘The Avengers’.


	2. The Species known as The Avengers

The first Avenger he met was Black Widow herself.

It had been by complete accident, because one afternoon a black cat wandered into Steve’s yard and refused to leave.

It had no collar, but Steve took it to the vet nonetheless to check for a chip – which it _did_ have.

The cat belonged to somebody named ‘Ruth’, and when Steve dialled the number to be greeted by a silky, feminine voice, Steve still thought nothing strange.

They agreed a time to meet, but before Steve could even give an address of where his house was, the person hung up, and all subsequent calls went straight to voice mail.

Steve just shrugged. Maybe Ruth was just busy, and he could try again tomorrow. It wasn’t like he was in a desperate rush to get rid of the cat.

Except the next day he was visited by a beautiful redhead who asked for her cat.

Steve immediately recognised her as Black Widow, and did not at all question how the fuck she knew his full name and address, because frankly, he really didn’t want to know.

He returned the cat with a polite smile and thought that was the end of that.

The cat came back a week later, a fluff of black nestling into the grass and meowing happily when Steve found it in the yard.

He called Black Widow immediately.

“Hello, is this-”

“Ah. Steven Grant Rogers.”

“Uh…Yeah, that’s me. But anyway, uhm…Your cat is in my backyard again.”

A silence. 

“Oh.”

It was a real superpower, how Black Widow could make one single word could sound so dry and unimpressed all at once.

“Well, it’s no rush or anything, I can take care of the cat. I just didn’t want you to worry and- Was that a gunshot?!”

“Huh. Not exactly a gunshot but clo-”

“-Oh my god was that an explosion?! What - Where the hell are you?!”

“That’s classified but – You know what? I’ll call you back later. Bye, Steven.”

Black Widow didn’t call back.

Instead, she turned up at Steve’s house at exactly five in the afternoon, in jeans and impeccably perfect-looking hair, as if she wasn’t just in some kind of warzone just a few hours ago.

Steve returned the cat back to her and Black Widow thanked him, winking once. Steve blushed scarlet.

Then it happened again next week.

“Uh…Hi again. Miss Black Widow. Ma’am.”

“Steven. Always a pleasure. And It’s Natasha.”

“Right Miss Natasha-”

“Just Natasha.”

“Well uh…Natasha, I was just calling to- Is somebody screaming?! What-”

“Gosh, you’re just adorable, Steven. Look, I’m sorry about Liho. She gets angsty when I go on missions for too long. I’ll pick her up as soon as I can. Just sit tight and relax.”

Black Widow came down to collect her cat a few hours later as promised, and Steve handed Liho over without a word.

Then it happened again next week.

And again. And again.

So he became the Black Widow’s unofficial cat-sitter. She would go out to save the world or whatever she did and Liho would wander into Steve’s garden, greeting him happily one day, and Steve would take care of her until whatever mission she was on was finally done, and then she would drop by Steve’s house to pick Liho up.

Eventually, they went out for a cup of coffee, then a few lunches. And then Black Widow officially became Natasha, and Natasha became Nat and Nat became one of Steve’s close friends.

\----------

The next Avenger he met was Tony Stark.

The meeting was – again – by complete accident.

It was the aftermath of an alien invasion – something that Steve had gotten scarily used to – and he was cleaning up the broken window from where an alien tentacle flew in from yesterday when he heard the incessant door knocking from outside.

Steve had opened the door to see none other than Tony fucking Stark in his Iron Man suit, with an impressive black eye and a gash on the cheek.

“Uh…hello?”

“Oh thank the heavens! Every bloody florist in town is closed, like how is that even possible? Sure it’s a day after an alien invasion but you’d think that there would be at least one responsible florist delivering good, fresh colourful twigs to the people of New York and-”

“I’m not a florist-”

“-Anyway I’m getting off track. But could you just wrap up a nice bouquet of whatever pronto?  I am late and Pep is gonna kill me. Don’t care what flowers or what colour – not white at least, white is no good – but just a nice bunch of something that I can bring to-”

“Like I said, I’m not a florist.”

“Oh come on! You even have that nice garden in the back, how can you _not_ be a florist?!”

“I’m really not-”

“Look I’ll pay you a hundred – no a thousand – if you could spare just a few sprigs from your lovely little nursery over there because I’m seriously running late so-”

“Uhm…Sure, but you don’t have to pay anything.”

“You are an absolute lifesaver!”

Steve grabbed a pair of scissors and went out to his garden, cutting off a couple stems of flowers and wrapping them in newspaper and some brown cloth, before topping it off with a string tied into a ribbon at the front.

It was nowhere near as professional-looking as a bouquet of flowers a _real_ florist would make, but Steve thought it had a certain rustic charm to it, and he gave the bouquet some last few tweaks before going back to the front door, thrusting it out to Stark, who was tapping his foot impatiently and talking loudly to himself.

“Thanks!” Stark had said, snatching the bouquet and thrusting something in Steve’s hand before blasting off, and Steve just stared at him go, slightly dumbfounded.

And then he looked down at his hand, which was holding a single cheque. A cheque for fiv- _Five thousand dollars?!_

What the hell?

Didn’t he say he didn’t need to be paid?!

He immediately mailed the cheque back to Stark Tower, or Avengers Tower, or whatever the fuck it was called these days and put it out of his mind, totally forgetting about it. 

Until Steve checked his bank account a few days later, eyes nearly popping out when he discovered that there were a few more zeros in the balance than he was accustomed to.

An anonymous donation of some sort, with absolutely no explanation as to how the fuck it ended up there without Steve knowing.

And then this conversation went down:

“Sir, so you wish to report that your bank account has been hacked..?”

“Yes.”

“Uh…but you also reported that no money was stolen?”

“ _Yes_ , that’s correct. But it definitely has been hacked. One hundred percent!”

“Look, sir. I’m trying to assist you as best I can, but I’m afraid I require more details than that.”

“Like I said, Tony Stark hacked into my bank account and deposited a sum of money in without me knowing.”

“…Tony Stark? Deposited a sum of money into your bank account?”

“Yes!! A _l_ _arge_  sum of money! That came from nowhere! No bank details or any kind of transaction number! But I _know_ it’s him!!”

“So what you’re saying is that somebody-”

“It was Tony Stark!”

“- _Tony Stark_ hacked your bank account, did not steal any money, but deposited a large sum of money in instead? How large of a sum are we talking?”

“Like… _millions?!_ I don’t know!”

“Right, _millions_ , because that’s plausible. Almost as plausible as having your account hacked by _Tony Stark_ with no money stolen, but more money added instead.”

“It’s the truth!”

There was a sigh.

“Sir, I don’t know what prank you’re trying to pull here but we’ll appreciate it if-”

“It’s not a prank!”

“-You refrain from filing any more false claims in the future or you might be liable for legal action. Thank you so much for calling.”

“Wai- Hello? HELLO?!”

\----------

Thor he met by accident, _yet again_.

Steve had been sleeping peacefully when another alien invasion happened, explosions and cannon noises jolting him awake. 

And then there was a loud crash in his backyard, and Steve jumped in shock, grabbing a baseball bat and peering out tentatively, ready to bash any stray aliens that have come to eat his brains.

But there were no aliens.

Just one shiny-looking hammer in the centre of his garden, crushing a perfectly healthy tomato plant.

Steve frowned at that, putting the baseball bat away and trotting downstairs to his garden.

He’d never seen Mjolnir in real life, but he supposed if any hammer was going to be _the_ Mjolnir, this one had to be it.

Steve then looked up into the sky, waiting for the god of thunder himself to come crashing down and collect his hammer.

But the alien invasion was quickly resolved and minutes became hours but nobody came, and Steve was becoming impatient. He needed to tend to his plants but the dratted hammer was in the way and scaring away all his poor garden visitors.

So being the polite citizen he was, he shifted the hammer out of the way and went about tending to his now crushed tomato plant. He even cleaned the tomato juice off the hammer and settled it down on his dining table for safekeeping until Thor decided to come down to take it back.

Steve was woken up at 4am to the bellowing sounds of Thor, who – as polite as a real God could be – asked to know Mjolnir’s whereabouts.

“I am sorry to disturb you, my young friend. I was thrown into a portal and have just returned back to Midgard and-”

“Oh, you’re Thor! You’re here for your hammer. Hang on, I’ll go get it.”

“Yes, Mjolnir. I will be happy to have her back in my hands. And if I may have your permission to enter, I will gladly take it off your-”

“No need! I’ve got it!”

“Mjolnir is not for-…You lifted Mjolnir.”

“Huh? I mean, I know I look really scrawny and small but-”

“You lifted _Mjolnir_.” Thor then stared at Steve with curious eyes, puzzled, before declaring loudly, “you are _worthy_ , young mortal.”

“Uh…Thanks..?”

\----------

Then it was Hulk, making his appearance as a mountain of bulging green hanging out in Steve’s backyard one random afternoon. 

“Tiny man has nice garden.”

“…Uhm thanks?”

Steve became the first living person to successfully high-five the Hulk and not be pummelled into the ground.

\----------

Hawkeye was next.

He was a rather nice fellow, Clint Barton.

Clint also had a dog, a fluffy dog named Lucky.

Lucky did not get along with Steve’s cat.

\----------

The next Avenger he met was Sam, when he was officially christened as the Falcon and the newest member of the Avengers after whatever shit happened with the helicarriers and SHIELD.

“You said you were pararescue!!”

“Uhm…sort of?”

“Sam!”

“It was classified, alright?!”

“Well but-”

“I wanted to tell you, I really did, but it was classified and I couldn’t just-”

“I _know_ that! I just- Nobody said a thing to me! One day the news was constantly going off and there was that fight on the highway and you guys got arrested on television and-”

“Oh Steve.”

“-I called you. So many times! And Nat too, and nobody picked up and I had no idea what was going on and-”

“Hey, it’s okay-”

“-Then the helicarriers _fell_. The fucking helicarriers fell from the sky, Sam!! And then there was all that fuss about the Winter Soldier and Hydra but you still didn’t pick up the fucking phone and I didn’t even know if you were alive or not-”

“Steve-”

“You can’t _do_ that!! You don’t get to just go off running into fucking wars and gunfire and not let me know a damn thing and just- Just-”

“It’s okay-”

“I called up all the hospitals in the city for _days_ , Sam.”

“…Oh _Steve_. "

“I had no idea where you guys were, or if anyone would even bother telling me if you guys were…gone.”

“I’m sorry, Steve. I’m so so sorry. We just…Things were batshit crazy and we didn’t plan to hide things from you at all. We truly didn’t. But we just couldn’t risk it, not with everything we knew about Hydra and SHIELD and Project Insight. We couldn’t knowingly put you in danger or in harm’s way. We thought – we were just trying to _protect_ you.”

“…You still could’ve called. Sent a mail. Sent a fucking pigeon for god’s sake.”

“I know. And I’m so sorry, Steve. I won’t do it again, I promise. I’ll let you know for sure if something comes up.”

“Damn right you will.”

Sam gave Steve a big hug, and that was it.

\----------

Steve yelled at Natasha as well, and all she said in the end was:

“Huh. You can be kinda scary when you want to be.”

But she gave Steve a tight hug in the end, and that was that too.


	3. The Raccoon

Things quickly returned to normal.

Kind of.

Because now Steve had some kind of raccoon invader in the garden. Well he was pretty sure it was a raccoon at least, because only those devious bastards could leave such a calculated mess in his garden like that.

Like, what kind of monster takes one bite out of all his hard-grown produce and scampers off into oblivion?! Or terrorise his poor cat so badly that she refused to leave the house for a whole week straight?

But the last straw came one morning when Steve went to his garden to pick those freshly ripened lemons he’d been saving for a nice lemon meringue pie when-

The nasty raccoon struck again.

His poor lemons were on the floor, a bite taken out of each and smashed into the ground with precious juice spilling all over.

Steve immediately cursed out loud, punching in Sam’s number and pressing the dial button.

“Hello?”

“Sam!”

“… _Steve_ , I realise this is a huge revelation to you, but majority of the human race don’t wake up at bloody six in the morning.”

“The fucking raccoon is back!”

There was a long, tired sigh.

“The raccoon. Right.”

“It butchered my lemons, Sam!”

“And I’m supposed to care like the past million times because..?” 

“Well joke’s on _you_ , because I was gonna make a nice lemon meringue pie and _maybe_ give some to you.”

There was a loud gasp through the phone, but it wasn’t Sam.

“A lemon meringue pie?!” Someone else called out, distinctively female, a voice that Steve recognised instantly.

“Natasha?”

“Oh hi, Steve.”

“Why are you with Sam-”

“You should set up some traps for the raccoon. I know somebody that makes _excellent_ wire traps. It’ll be perfec-”

“I’m not setting up traps of any kind! Nothing that would hurt the raccoon!! But why are you with-”

“Well raccoons are not to be trifled with, they’re terrifying creatures, so any trap that’s less than lethal isn’t going to work and-”

“I’m not going to be a raccoon murderer, Nat! And why-”  

“Don’t worry, I’ll just text you the number of the trapper and you can go mull over whether a lemon meringue pie is worth more than a dead raccoon.”

“Like I said, I’m not going to hurt the racc- Wait you’re _distracting_ me!! Why are you with Sam?! Are you sleeping with-”

Sam – or Natasha – hung up on him.

Steve pouted at his phone for a good minute, before narrowing his eyes when a text came in from Natasha, with a contact labelled ‘Proficient Raccoon Killer’ and a smiley emoji beside it.

Steve sent back a few angry face emojis and deleted the text.

Then he looked at the mayhem underneath his lovely lemon tree, eyes narrowing further.

Yeah, this was a declaration of _war_. It was on. Him versus the raccoon. It was _so_ on.

\----------

Steve tried leaving bowls of leftovers for the raccoon as a peace offering, but the nasty creature ignored them all, going straight for his oranges and apples which - as Steve grew to realise – were the raccoon’s preferred choice of victim.

So Steve tried a different approach. He bought oranges and apples from the grocery store and removed the labels, placing them out in the garden. But the raccoon was not just vicious, it was _smart_ too, and it pointedly left the grocery store fruit alone, preying on Steve’s fruit instead.

And it annoyed Steve to no end.

He’d never faced such a cunning adversary before, and all attempts at trying to befriend and appease the devil incarnate proved fruitless. _Literally!_

What’s worse was that he’d never once even glimpsed of the gluttonous barbarian. It was like it knew whenever Steve was doing a stakeout from his bedroom on the second floor, and it never showed up. Not even a single rustle or trace of fur anywhere.

Then one night Steve was rummaging around in his kitchen to look for _something_ to offer the raccoon again, something that he hasn’t tried bribing before and the only thing left was – and Steve pouted at the thought - _his favourite brand of chocolate chip cookies_.

Steve picked up the precious packet, mouth already watering, and then he sighed.

Well…It was worth a shot at least.

And so Steve left the opened packet out on the porch.

\----------

The packet was empty by morning, not a single crumb in sight.

Steve considered that a win, but mourned the loss of his beloved cookies.

\----------

It became a routine.

As long as Steve left some cookies out on the porch, his fruit would not be preyed on.

But this was unsustainable. Completely unacceptable!

Steve needed his damn cookies man! He thrived on those lovely nuggets of gooey chocolate goodness, and he wasn’t about to let some vile demon deprive him of said cookies!!

He needed a new plan.

A new strategy.

If the raccoon liked cookies, maybe it’d like other baked things too. Like biscuits or cake or something close enough to a chocolate chip cookie that it wouldn’t be able to tell the difference from – and Steve paused.

Yes. He’s got the perfect idea.

_Raisin cookies._

Surely a raccoon wouldn’t be picky about the type of cookies it got right? Cookies were cookies, and it’s a raccoon. Raccoons eat anything.

\----------

Steve was wrong.

The raccoon didn’t appreciate the merits of a raisin cookie just like ninety percent of the human race (and Sam, because Sam was a horrible human being with horrible taste in food). And the disaster that befell upon his poor apple and orange trees was something he didn’t need a repeat of, _ever._

\----------

Then came one fine afternoon, when Steve had just woken up from a nap.

He was blinking his eyes blearily, yawning once, before he heard the faintest crinkle coming from outside, and he immediately froze.

The raccoon!

Steve nearly pissed himself from excitement sneaking to the door and pulling it open, because he was finally going to get a glimpse of his greatest rival and enemy and –

_Oh my god._

He immediately called Natasha.

“Uh…Nat?”

“What’s up Rogers?”

“Remember that gardening problem I was telling you about?”

“Oh, the raccoon right? Did you finally stop trying to lure it with food and set up traps like I told you to?”

“Uh…Not exactly?”

“What do you mean? Did you find it?”

“Unless the raccoon is a human with a metal arm, no..?”

“What.”

“A metal arm, you know, like the Wint- Oh no he just saw me.”

“Steve! Get back inside and-”

Steve didn’t hear the rest.

The phone slipped from his grip as he immediately slammed the door shut behind him, bolting up to his room to hide in the most cliched place known to mankind: under the bed.

Steve expected doors to come crashing down. He expected gunshots. He expected explosions. He expected a deadly metal arm to come reaching out from outside to drag him out for a prompt execution. He expected _something._

…But there was nothing.

No sound, no indication that anything was happening, and it took Steve a good ten minutes of cowering in silence before he finally had enough courage to peek out from under the bed, looking about.

No deadly Hydra assassins in sight.

And it took another five minutes before Steve decided to tiptoe downstairs with his baseball bat, picking up his phone and looking out of the peek-hole through the door before carefully twisting the door open, peering out.

There was nobody in sight, and his garden was untouched, not a plant or leaf out of place.

Steve frowned, stepping outside. Immediately, his leg collided into something, and Steve yelped, eyes flying to the ground as he flinched back.

It was-

The packet of cookies he’d left outside earlier this morning.

Opened, half-eaten, cookies strewn across the porch.

Steve lowered his baseball bat, quickly tapping his phone to call Natasha.

“Steve!”

“Nat-”

“Are you alright?!”

“I’m okay. I- I think he’s gone.”

“Just stay inside the house, I’ll be there in five minutes. And don’t do anything stupid!”

Natasha hung up, and Steve looked about, still seeing no sign of the Winter Soldier anywhere. Then he stared at the cookie mess on the floor, kneeling down and prodding it tentatively.

Yupp, still a innocent packet of cookies. Not a grenade or an explosive of some sort.

The cookies were broken and crumbled into pieces, like they’ve been tossed aside carelessly in panic, and for some reason when Steve stared the mess, he felt faintly…bad.

\----------

Natasha arrived in five minutes as promised and refused to leave until every inch of Steve’s house (and garden) was inspected.

She then tried to convince Steve to move and stay elsewhere for the time being until she could secure the place and make it safe again, but Steve put his foot down and said no.

He didn’t leave when the raccoon – or the Winter Soldier – first made his appearance, and he wasn’t leaving now.

If the Winter Soldier wanted to kill him, he could have done so countless times before, and for some strange reason that Steve himself didn’t fully understand yet…he didn’t think the Winter Soldier meant him any harm.

\----------

It took two weeks for Natasha to finally agree to stop spying on Steve’s house, and another week for her to stop lying about doing so.

When Steve finally had his home and privacy to himself again, the first thing he did – oddly enough – was to buy a mountain of chocolate chip cookies and place one packet out on the porch.

It remained untouched the next day, and the next, and for the rest of the week.

But Steve persisted, and finally, nearly two months since he’d first caught the Winter Soldier out in his garden, an empty cookie packet was found by his porch, not a crumb or chocolate stain in sight.

Steve grinned.

\----------

He never saw the Winter Soldier again since then. Somehow the Hydra assassin would know when Steve was out, or if he was asleep, and whenever Steve returned, he would find the empty cookie packet on the porch, demolished.

Steve started reading up on the Winter Soldier, or at least whatever that he could find online.

He learnt that the Winter Soldier was an enhanced soldier. Originally American, but had been tortured and brainwashed to serve Hydra.

Steve had cried upon reading that, and he left two packets of cookies outside that day.

Weeks passed like that, and one day when Steve was in the grocery store walking down the cookie aisle, he suddenly wondered about the Winter Soldier’s diet.

Was he eating well? Did he eat nothing but cookies every day? That was very unhealthy, and surely that wasn’t good for the body, enhanced or not.

But apart from cookies, and Steve’s apples and oranges, he seemed to hate everything else, in particular lemons.

So cookies, apples and oranges.

…That was definitely not a good or balanced diet.

And Steve nodded to himself, resolving to do something about that.

\----------

He tried putting out oatmeal chocolate chip cookies.

They weren’t smashed and rejected like the heinous raisin ones, but they remained half eaten the next morning, and Steve quietly put that under the rejected column.

Then Steve tried biscuits, plain ones, then animal-shaped ones.

The Winter Soldier didn’t like the plain ones, but accepted the animal biscuits.

Steve tried other fruit.

Bananas were rejected immediately – found in Steve’s trash bin untouched and unpeeled. Pears were tentatively accepted (it took three whole days before the Winter Soldier decided to try one). Strawberries and raspberries were accepted, but blueberries were not, and mangoes were judged to be on a level higher than strawberries but lower than apples.

Steve continued to branch out to different foods.

Most vegetables were ignored – raw or cooked, but the soldier seemed partial to broccoli, and Steve made sure to pack a small box full of steamed broccoli every day since then.

Bread was accepted, and the soldier seemed to like cheese sandwiches well enough that he would basically eat any sandwich with cheese in it – even if Steve snuck in a few hated tomatoes or carrots in them.

Eventually, a packet of cookies evolved to become a full lunchbox, a nice balanced meal with fresh fruit, a good serving of vegetables and always double servings of protein and carbohydrates, just because it seemed apt for someone like the soldier.

Then the weather started to grow colder, and Steve started putting out hot chocolate in thermos bottles for the soldier. And on a whim he decided to buy a nice warm, fluffy sweater, because even a super soldier had to feel cold too right?

The sweater disappeared when Steve woke up.

So did the scarf the next day.

And a pair of gloves.

\----------

Steve started writing short post-it notes and pasting them on the lunchbox. Harmless things like:

“Hi, I’m Steve! It’s nice to meet you!”, with a small cartoon drawing of Steve beside.

Or:

“It’s a new recipe, hope you like it!”, with a smiley face.

And:

“This is salmon. I know it’s pink and looks weird but I swear it tastes amazing.”

Steve asked questions sometimes, and although he never once got a response from the soldier, the post-its were always gone from the lunchbox whenever Steve went outside, so he knew the soldier read and maybe kept all of them.

\----------

And then Steve woke up one morning feeling like death, skin feverish hot and mind muddled all over.

His throat was parched and sore. Steve coughed once, and…yupp that definitely did not sound good.

Steve hastily prepared some sandwiches, steaming the broccoli and cutting up a few slices of melon to pack into a lunchbox. By the time he placed it on the porch, whatever energy he had was long gone, and he barely remembered collapsing on the couch and falling asleep, vaguely thinking about how he should probably call Sam or Nat to take him to the doctor.

And when Steve woke up hours later, he - weirdly enough - wasn’t on the couch anymore.

He had been mysteriously transported to the bed, covered in two layers of thick fluffy blankets.

Steve tried not to think too hard about how he might have ended up there.

\----------

Then his birthday came along, and Steve opened the door to a delivery man with the largest parcel he’d ever seen.

Dumbfounded but unsurprised – because Natasha liked to pretend to be all sneaky about presents for some reason – Steve signed the form and brought the parcel into his room, prying it open.

Inside was the largest collection of art supplies he’d ever seen – a new set of paints, high quality ones too, brushes, markers, brush markers, watercolours, papers, coloured pencils, even a series of cute animal erasers that he’d wanted to get for a while.

Steve couldn’t stop grinning at it all, and he’d whipped out his phone to call Nat and thank her when the doorbell rang again.

It was another delivery man, holding a smaller parcel with Natasha’s handwriting clearly on it.

What?

He accepted the parcel with a frown and took it back to his room.

There were comic books inside, his favourite series that he remembered gushing to Natasha about, and Steve’s frown just deepened.

He liked the present, yes, but now he was just _confused_.

If Natasha didn’t give him those art supplies, then who did?

Someone immediately came to mind. Someone perhaps with a metal arm, and Steve’s face suddenly felt very warm.

No way that could be possible right?

\----------

Weeks passed, and suddenly one day, the usually empty lunchbox had a post-it stuck to it.

“Thank you.” It said, in simple cursive, and Steve smiled upon seeing it, proudly bringing the post-it up to his room to keep it somewhere safe.

Steve didn’t get another post-it until two weeks later, this one saying:

“I think my name was James.”

Steve kept the post-it as well.

\----------

There was an alien invasion three weeks later, and Steve had his baseball bat in hand, ready to smash alien guts when-

His window was smashed and an alien tumbled in, screeching, claws out, ready to tear his flesh into shreds.

Another five aliens dropped down from god knows where close behind the first alien in his garden, and they all let out a loud scream, slippery tails swishing back and forth as they fixed their beady eyes on Steve.

Steve froze for the barest second.

And-

A gunshot resounded, a loud crack that made Steve flinch in shock, and the nearest alien made a spluttering noise, black blood spilling out from a fresh bullet wound before collapsing to the ground, and Steve flinched again.

The other five aliens howled, tails flicking aggressively.

And then a mass of black and glimmering silver pounced in, kicking down an alien and unloading a full clip of bullets into the next alien with startling accuracy.

The Winter Soldier - _James_ \- was outfitted for war, dark hair fluttering as he kicked and punched and dodged his way through the four remaining aliens, and Steve gasped.

One of the aliens lunged for James – a blistering fast movement that had Steve screaming out for James to watch out – but James didn’t hesitate. He ducked under the claw attack and promptly plunged a knife into the alien’s body, twisting it as the alien floundered and screeched before going motionless.

The next alien came in blistering fast, and James simply rolled aside to dodge another claw attack, before jumping straight back up to stab the alien in the head, tossing it aside easily. 

The last two aliens screeched in clear anger, before dashing forth together.

And James didn’t even blink, calmly twirling his knife and pulling out a gun – one of the many strapped to him.

It was over before Steve could even take a full breath, and with two simple gunshots, the aliens fell to the ground, limp.

James stood above the fallen aliens, staring at the dead bodies with eyes so cold and dead – befitting of the Winter Soldier indeed – and Steve tentatively called out:

“…James?”

Almost instantly, James tensed like a deer caught in headlights, eyes flickering to Steve, as if he’d just noticed him there.

It was the first time Steve had gotten such a good look of James, and Steve couldn’t help but notice that his eyes were of a piercing blue, his hair of a deep brown, red in some areas under the afternoon sun, and-

 _Oh my god_ Steve was staring.

“Uhm…” James said, so unsure, a complete opposite of the confident, deadly warrior he had been just two seconds ago. But the only thing Steve’s flustered brain could think of was: oh, his voice is deep. _And nice_.

“Thanks for saving me.” Steve smiled, trying to put him at ease.

But James froze, clearly uncomfortable, eyes darting about before focusing on Steve again.

“…Are you okay?” James asked, voice soft and timid.

“Yeah. Are _you_ okay?”

James seemed taken aback by the question, blinking a few times, but he nodded eventually.

“That’s good.”

James nodded again, hunched in as if he was trying to make himself as small as possible, and he turned aside, swallowing.

“I- I got to go.”

Then he practically bolted away like a terrified mouse, and Steve just watched him go, a little surprised.  

He did _not_ expect that.


	4. The Not-A-Raccoon

Steve’s post-its to James got longer, more personal, and sometimes, James would even reply him. Not always, but frequent enough for Steve to basically skip downstairs early in the morning to read his replies.

‘I think my name was James Buchanan Barnes.’ Said one note.

‘I had three sisters. They called me Bucky.’ Said another.

‘I don’t know how old I am.’ Another said.

‘I don’t remember my mother. I don’t-’ And the rest was torn out.

This continued for a few more weeks, and then one rainy night, there was a knock on Steve’s door.

It was soft, hesitant, and when Steve opened up the door, he wasn’t expecting to see Bucky there, dressed in a hoodie and a cap, completely drenched from head to toe.

“Bucky?”

He was shivering, deathly pale, his eyes were vacant and lost, and he had the same expression on his face as Sam did many years ago when he’d first lost Riley.

Steve’s heart broke.

“Do you want to come in?” Steve asked, keeping his voice low and soft.

Bucky didn’t move, made no indication that he’d even heard Steve at all. So Steve reached out, slowly, before gently tugging him in by the sleeve. Bucky followed.

Steve ushered him to the couch, got him a large towel to dry off and made him a cup of hot chocolate.

Bucky barely moved or responded, but he was compliant, and Steve just continued talking in that same low voice, telling him about the latest movie he saw in the cinema, some kind of cute animated film.

It took hours, and Steve’s mouth was dry by then, but eventually Bucky started nodding off, sinking fully into the couch and falling deeply asleep. Steve’s eyes softened at that, and when he covered Bucky with a blanket, fingers pushing aside a strand of hair from his eyes, Bucky let out a soft whimper, eyebrows furrowing.

“It’s okay.” Steve whispered, gently stroking through Bucky’s hair.

Bucky calmed down.

\----------

Bucky started showing himself to Steve more often after that.

A few times late into the night, pale and unfocused, but gradually extending to the daytime as well, often gifting Steve strange plants and sweets before bolting away.

It was endearing, _cute_ even, and it made Steve’s heart flutter whenever Bucky did things like that.

Then they shared a few meals together, watched a few movies, ate ice cream, and Steve found himself thinking of Bucky a lot, sketching him basically all the time, even smiling dopily at random hours in the day for no reason at all. 

Things were good.

So of course, the universe had to step in and correct that.

It started off like any other typical day. Steve was cooking lunch for himself, humming a tune, wondering whether Bucky would like the slice of apple pie he’d made when the door was bashed open. Steve yelped.

A group of armed men stormed in, the leader with a skull-like mask, and Steve’s instincts immediately started firing.

He recognised this man from the news. They called him _Crossbones._

“So _you’re_ the new pet he chose huh?”

Steve’s eyes hardened, and he grabbed the nearest knife before-

He was immediately slammed to the ground in a single move, head crashing into the kitchen tiles. The knife clattered aside uselessly, and Steve winced, his head swimming.

Crossbones laughed, lifting Steve up by his shirt and tossing him back into the cabinets. More pain, and Steve gasped,

“What the fuck do you want?”

“A little too young to swear, aren’t you.”

“Fuck off.” Steve spat out.

Crossbones seemed to smirk behind the mask, and he aimed a vicious kick into Steve’s stomach, making him topple over.

Blood filled Steve’s mouth from where he’d bit his tongue, and through his blurred vision, he saw Crossbones pick the fallen knife, staring hard at it before moving closer to Steve, knife in his arm.

Fuck. This was bad.

Three gunshots rang out in unison, one right after the other, and three of the armed mercenaries facing the window fell to the ground.

Crossbones didn’t even turn around.

“Ah. He’s here. Well, it’s time to play.” 

And before Steve could even react, Crossbones plunged the knife into Steve’s side.

White hot pain melted all thoughts, and Steve screamed.

“Aww, does it hurt? Don’t worry, you won’t die. Yet.”

And then Crossbones twisted the knife, tearing another scream out from Steve’s throat, before leaving the knife in and standing back up.

Steve rolled to the ground, fresh sweat pouring out on his skin as the waves of pain got stronger, fiery licks burning through everything.

His vision was blurry, blackness encroaching in from the sides, and Steve caught the barest glimpse of silver at the doorway. Steve tried to move, tried to call for Bucky, but all that came out was a soft groan, and Steve shut his eyes tight through the next wave of pain.

He heard gunshots. Punches. Sickening cracks.

“I’ve waited so long for this.” Steve heard Crossbones say.

He’s not sure what Bucky said in response, everything was starting to get foggy, and Steve winced, trying one last time to push himself up but to no avail.

And then Steve caught sight of his phone, still on the table top, dangling precariously off the edge.

Steve bit his lip hard, reaching out for it, and his fingertips barely touched it and-

Fuck-

Steve used the last bit of will and strength to push himself forth, tipping over the phone and watching it crash to the floor.

He could hear punches and kicks in the background, grunts and growls, and Steve focused on the phone, thrown out of reach.

Steve whimpered, trying to slide himself forth, but his legs were like jelly, completely uncooperative.

Fuck, it hurt.

And he lay on the ground, completely spent, whimpering for what feels like an eternity until a loud gunshot filled in the air, then silence.

Footsteps rushing to him, and two strong arms hoisted him upright.

“Steve? _Steve!_ ” Bucky’s voice was muffled, but Steve could still hear the panic in his voice, the desperation. Steve blinked.

“Ph-Phone. Call.” Steve forced out, and Bucky immediately lunged for the phone, pressing frantically.

Steve blinked again, unfocused. Everything was starting to go dark, fade away. His stomach had stopped hurting too – that was probably bad.

“Hello? Steve?” Natasha’s voice resounded, crisp and clear.

“I- He’s hurt. He got stabbed- He needs help now.” Bucky’s voice was torn, and Steve wanted to reach out to hold him. Comfort him. One last time.

“Wha-”

“He needs help _now!_ ” Bucky basically screamed, voice breaking. “Steve? _Steve?!_ Stay awake!”

Steve was trying. He really was.

But it was just.

So.

Hard.

And-

“ _STEVE!_ ”

\----------

Steve didn’t die.

He woke up in an unfamiliar bed with an incessant beeping at the side.

“Get back in the bed, Steve.” Sam said.

“Bucky?”

“You need to rest.” Natasha urged from the other side.

“Where is he?”

“You’re still hurt, Steve.”

“Where is Bucky?” 

“Steve-”

“Where is _Bucky?!_ ”

The door suddenly opened, and there Bucky was, unharmed, not a single scratch on him, and Steve let out a breath, sinking back in to the bed, just…so relieved.

“You’re okay.” Steve muttered.

“I’m not the one who got stabbed.” Bucky said.

Steve reached a hand out, and Bucky trotted over obediently, placing his hand in Steve’s. Steve didn’t miss the way both Natasha and Sam narrowed their eyes at that.

“I’m okay.” Steve reassured, gently squeezing Bucky’s hand.

Bucky just nodded, unable to say anything, and he squeezed Steve’s hand back, not letting go.

\----------

“You know Steve, I always tell you not to do anything stupid, but this? This is the very definition of everything I told you _not_ to do.” Natasha said much later.

“Bucky didn’t hurt me.”

“Bucky? There is no _Bucky_ here. We’re talking about the Winter Soldier, Steve.”

“He’s _not_ the Winter Soldier. His name is James Buchanan Barnes, or Bucky.”

“ _Steven Grant Rogers!_ ”

“He didn’t hurt me, Nat. Bucky’s not a bad person. I wish you could see that.”

“Well forgive me for not being able to understand that, considering he tried to kill both me and Sam.”

“He was brainwashed!”

\----------

Steve found out he was in the Avengers Tower, flown in here by Iron Man himself, and when none other than Tony Stark came in to see him, Steve just narrowed his eyes at him, shouting,

“You!”

“Me!” Stark grinned.

“Stop ignoring my emails! And take back your god damn money for fuck’s sake!!”

“Nope, nuh-uh. No idea what you’re talking about. But it’s peculiar, really, how the bank systems just seem to keep making mysterious transaction errors.”

“Because you _hacked_ into it!”

“Whaaaat? I did no such thing!”

Steve threw a pillow at his face. 

Stark handed him a get well soon teddy bear and a wedding invitation in return.

\----------

Thor came in next, and his face immediately brightened upon seeing Steve.

“It warms my heart to see you well again, my young friend!”

“Hi Thor.” 

“Wait, you two _know_ each other?!” Tony quipped in.

“Uh…yeah. We met.”

“Yes, a fateful encounter it was indeed. I did not expect to find a worthy mortal here on Midgard and-”

“Worthy? Wait a- Does that mean what I _think_ it is?!”

\----------

People just kept streaming in, and soon enough, Steve’s room was completely full.

Clint Barton was sitting with Natasha and Sam, cackling as the two arm wrestled, and Lucky and Liho were with Steve, taking full advantage of their spy-assassins’ inattention to file joint custody over Steve in the bed, cuddling up to him as two warm affectionate balls of fluff.

Bucky on the other hand was seated beside the bed, staring suspiciously at Lucky and Liho like they were aliens of some sort – he still had not progressed from aggressive staring to aggressive petting yet – and in fact, Steve might wager to say he even looked a little jealous.

Thor was at the other side of the bed, delight in his eyes as he placed Mjolnir in Steve’s hands and asked him to lift it, over and over. And fiddling with Steve’s IV drip was Bruce Banner, who smiled shyly at him and waved a little. Finally, there was Tony Stark, standing at the doorway overseeing everything and looking completely befuddled. 

“Okay, so. I think we really need to address some things here.” Stark announced. 

Everyone in the room looked up.

“Address what?” Barton asked.

Stark just gave him a look.

“Nobody thinks this is weird?”

“What’s weird?” 

“Oh, so it’s _not_ weird that stick figure Steven here is somehow BFFs with all the Avengers and I didn’t know any of this?!”

“Errr…no? Not really? Steve here is adorable. He deserves to be BFFs with everybody.”

Everyone nodded, even Bucky.

“Okay fine, I’ll give you that. But are we also forgetting that he’s also BFFs with one lone, positively murderous assassin that is definitely still an international criminal and _may_ have killed my parents?”

“Bucky was-”

“Yeah yeah, I know the drill. Brainwashed, tortured, yada yada not his fault. Whatever. I still have the right to be mad at him, and I’m gonna make full use of that.”

“You offered to hire a legal team to get him pardoned just twenty minutes ago. And asked if he wanted a new metal arm. Then you pouted when he said no.”

“Whatever! That means nothing! People express their anger in different ways _Barton_ , and I reserve the right to be mad still!!”

“Yeah, keep telling yourself that.”

“ _Anyway_. That’s not the point. Point is: are we just gonna ignore that Steve has not only befriended all of you guys without me knowing – seriously we’re teammates, you need to keep me in the loop here – or the fact that he’s turned the damn Winter Soldier into a lovesick puppy, _or_ the fact that Mjolnir, Thor’s magic hammer that disobeys all laws of physics, apparently deems him worthy?!”

There was silence in the room, and then Barton looked at Steve, and back at Tony.

“Yeah. That sounds just about right.”

“GUYS!”

\----------

It took much persuasion to convince Natasha and Sam that Bucky wasn’t a threat, but Steve was known for being outrageously stubborn, and he got his way. Eventually.

…It may have taken much bribing with lemon meringue pies.

\----------

But things weren’t easy of course.

Bucky still had his moments where he looked ready to give up on the world, but Steve would just gently sit him down on the couch, make him a cup of hot chocolate and talk for hours to no end regardless of the time or how tired he was, always until Bucky finally fell asleep.

They continued to eat meals together, tend to the garden together sometimes, but it still took a long while before he finally persuaded Bucky to move into that empty room beside Steve’s, and everything seemed to be going well.

Bucky himself didn’t speak much, remained quiet and timid around everyone (apart from Steve), skittering away at the slightest sound, but as time went by, he gradually relaxed, bit by bit, slowly uncurling from his shell. 

He warmed up to Steve’s friends too – the Avengers mostly, who have seemed to make a habit of dropping at his house unannounced, having zero regard for what constituted as appropriate visiting hours.

Bucky started to talk more with Natasha, play with her cat Liho, and he seemed to enjoy watching cartoon shows with Sam and Thor – from the multiple times Steve had returned home to see the three glued to the screen, watching some asinine cartoon blob roll about.

He never really warmed up to Clint’s dog Lucky, but the two marksmen got along just fine, having strange shooting competitions around the house which more often than not left a giant mess in Steve’s normally spotless apartment. (Bucky always helped him clean. Clint did not. Which was why he was the only one not given a slice of Steve’s mouth-watering lemon meringue pie.)

Even Stark helped, and it took months for his hired legal team to finally declare Bucky an innocent man, absolved of all his crimes he committed as the Winter Soldier. He even offered to make Bucky a new arm, and although Bucky kept refusing each time, Steve knew that it was a matter of time before he was finally ready to let go of that last stinging reminder of his time as an assassin.

And Steve loved it all – no matter how much he may outwardly complain about the mess or about the fact that he was practically running a children day-care 24/7.

It was nice…not being alone anymore.

But most of all, Steve loved watching Bucky, loved watching him grow every day, seeing flickers of his personality shine through all the trauma to reveal the most gentle, kind-hearted soul he’d ever seen.

Bucky was bright, radiant, and how could Steve have possibly stopped himself from wanting more? 

\----------

Months later, and it was another typical Sunday for Steve. Waking up at six to tend to his garden, feeding his cat and then cooking breakfast and spending the next half hour trying to tempt Bucky out from bed with the smell of delicious pancakes.

It worked eventually, and Bucky unrolled himself from his typical bed-burrito formation to pad out into the kitchen, eyes brightening at the large stack of apple cinnamon pancakes waiting on his plate. Bucky immediately got his utensils and brought his pancakes out to the table, settling in the seat opposite Steve.

They started eating, and Steve didn’t miss the way Bucky’s metal hand slowly slithered forth – a new metal arm, of a beautiful shade of silver with streaks of gold running down it.

Steve didn’t react when Bucky’s fingers curled around his, inching forward bit by bit until their hands were fully linked together.

“I can’t cut my pancakes like this, Buck.” Steve said, amused. 

“Hm.” Bucky said, but didn’t let go.

**Author's Note:**

> This started off as a simple crackfic idea that was never meant to go beyond 5k+ words. 
> 
> ...I don't know what happened. 
> 
> But thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy the fic! :)


End file.
